Salvation
by babies-stole-my-dingo
Summary: AU after Chosen. Spike was the only survivor of the Final Battle. He wanders into a little church a couple of decades later, looking for answers he doesn't even know the questions for. COMPLETE!
1. Questions

_**Author's Notes and Disclaimers:**_ AU after "Chosen;" prequel to my "Reward" fic. Spike was the only survivor of the closing of the Sunnydale Hellmouth. What happens when he walks into a little church in Texas one day a couple of decades later, looking for answers that he doesn't even know the questions for?   
  


Lampasas is a real town, although the church, the cemetery, and the pastor are not. I hope the good folks in my old home town don't mind me borrowing it for this fic. There is certainly no disrespect intended, and I have nothing but affection for the place and the people there.   
  


Well, duh, Spike's not mine. He belongs to Joss, Mutant Enemy, Buffy (or Fred--hee hee), and whoever else holds the rights to his undead, lovely self. I'll put him back when I'm done torturing him. Please don't sue me; I don't have any money anyway. I'm certainly not making any from this drivel.   
  


And now I'm going to stick the same disclaimer here as I stuck on my "Reward" fic (if you've read that one, then you can skip this part): If you're not open-minded enough to wrap your brain around a Christian Spike, then this fic is not for you. There are over 19,000 other stories out there just on this site; read one of them. It never fails to amaze me that people don't even blink at a Jewish lesbian wicca...but are shocked and appalled that a vampire with a troubled soul and a guilty conscience would seek out God for forgiveness. Go figure.   
  


I could have treated Spike's new conscience in several different ways. I could have put him on a psychiatrist's couch and told him that it was his mother's fault. I could have had him try to work out his own redemption (and we all know how well that's going for Old Tall, Dark, and Broody). I could have had him not deal with it at all. Or I could have done what I did. If that makes me a "religious nut"....oh well. To me, it seemed a logical progression in his spiritual journey--especially considering his Victorian upbringing. Others may have a different view, and I can respect that. Please respect mine.   
  


I have been assured that I haven't "de-Spiked" him. So, if you have tolerance for a viewpoint that may be slightly different from the norm, then please, read on, and tell me what you think. Tell me especially how I can make it better. But remember that name-calling only makes the person doing it look small.   
  


To any Christians who happen to stumble across this: I realize that I've bent at least one rule and probably broken a couple of others beyond repair. I'm working off the premise that a demon has the same free will that a human does...they just don't exercise it very often. Spike represents a rather unique conundrum, and I don't think the "normal" rules necessarily apply to him.   
  


OK. You're not here to read author's notes. On with the story!   
  
  
  
  
  


**_Chapter One: Questions_**

I stopped my ancient black DeSoto on the outskirts of a dusty little town in Texas. Looking around, I thought that this didn't appear too promising. "Lampasas," the sign said. "Pop. 5,428." 

I'd been wandering the globe for quite awhile now. One of the disadvantages to living forever is that you have all those memories to cart around with you wherever you go. You can leave the spot where the bad stuff happens, but forget? Never. Everything that took place on that fateful day was burned into my brain, as if it had occurred just yesterday, instead of over two decades before. 

Buffy had said she loved me. That hurt worst of all. She finally admitted her feelings for me...right before she and everyone else I could possibly call a friend died there at the Hellmouth. What a bloody waste. 

I'd thought about going up to LA to see Angel afterwards. Hell, he might have even done me the favor of dusting me. But no. There was no sense in adding to his own pain by showing up and reminding him of my miserable existence, when the one girl he cared about, his soulmate, was lying there at the bottom of a crater in Sunnydale, California. She'd been a Champion to the end. 

They all had been. 

See, this was what came of having a bloody soul. You started caring about the feelings of other people...even people you couldn't stand. Like my ponce of a Grandsire. I heard later that he got his Shanshu after averting an Armageddon of his own, and I was happy for him, in a way. At least someone in this world was getting something they deserved. 

So, I'd cruised aimlessly about. Found my way up to Cleveland. The Hellmouth there was a bloody waste of time. I did away with a few nasties and moved on. They just didn't make apocalypses like they used to. Never did find out where the new Slayer was hanging her white hat. I'd heard rumors here and there, but didn't follow up on any of them. What was the point, after all? What was I going to do, waltz up to her and say, "Please don't dust me, I'm a vampire with a soul and I'm here to help you." She'd laugh in my face and stake me anyway, if she had any training at all. 

Of course, with the Watcher's Council obliterated, there was a good chance that she didn't have any training. It was even possible that she had no idea who she was or what she was supposed to do. That was a lovely soddin' thought. A Slayer who didn't know she was called, fighting things that she had been told from birth didn't exist, but that were drawn to her because of who and what she was. What a travesty. 

Giles, at least, had gotten his books out before Sunnydale was turned inside out. They were in a storage unit in Los Angeles. I'd pick them up if and when I ever settled down. I wasn't much for the research side of killing evil things, but I had to admit that the books would have come in handy on more than one occasion. 

There was a lot of nowhere in Texas, and I was in the middle of it. Dawn was coming on, so I needed to find a place to hole up for the day. I tossed my cigarette out the window and drove into town. 

The streets were by no means crowded, but a few cars were out. The little donut shop was open and doing brisk business in the predawn darkness. I wondered briefly what would get people around here up so bleedin' early, but then I realized that most of them were probably ranchers and getting up early was a way of life for them. Poor sods. 

Well, this was another blink-and-you-miss-it town. I'd barely driven in before I drove out again. And there. That looked a bit of all right. A graveyard, with a couple of comfy-looking crypts. There was a church right next door, but I ignored that inconvenient fact for the moment. 

I couldn't ignore it for long, though. The cemetery was beautiful...but it didn't have a place to park the car. I shrugged. Beggars couldn't be choosers, so I drove into the church parking lot. Two other cars were sitting there, but I pulled in as far away from them as I could. 

My eyes were drawn to the big cross on the front of the church. The last time I'd had a close encounter with one of those was when I was out of my skull after getting my soul back. Sometimes I wished Buffy had just let me stay there and burn. It would have made my unlife easier. A little pain, a little fire, and then poof. No more Spike. What was it she'd said to the Bit up on Glory's tower? "The hardest thing in this life is to live in it." Bloody hell, she had that right. 

I got out of the DeSoto and walked over to one of the mausoleums. And I was very surprised to find out it was locked. Locked! Who the hell locked a crypt? I tried the other one, and it was bolted too. Well, that was just great. 

I looked over at the church again, half-hidden through the trees. The sun would be up in about two minutes and my options were narrowing. I didn't fancy staying in the car; it promised to be another sweltering, muggy day in Texas, and I knew only too well how hot the damn thing got in the sun. 

Bugger it. I'd go into the church. If anyone bothered me, I'd just eat them. I hadn't eaten anyone for a very long time, but I could make an exception or two. I was tired, weary to the bone, and I plain didn't give a rip anymore. 

At least the door to the church wasn't locked. I didn't know what day it was, but I was pretty sure it was a weekday, so it was nice that something was going right for me for once. I sat down in a pew and looked around. 

It wasn't very big. In fact, it looked as though there were more people outside in the cemetery than would fit inside this building. A few rows of padded benches, a small stage, a podium. A huge, empty cross hanging on the wall behind the stage. A couple of stained-glass windows, up high. The standard pictures of Jesus on the walls--talking to children, walking on water, being baptized by John. 

Up on the cross. 

I tore my gaze away from that one. The likes of me had no business viewing that. I was a monster. I knew where I was going when I died...and it wasn't where Buffy had gone, for the second time. 

"Sir?" She was small and plump and motherly, standing in the doorway next to the stage. "May I help you?" 

"Not really. Just resting," I told her. "I'd really rather be left alone, if you don't mind." 

"Are you sure? I could get the pastor..." 

"Positive!" I barked, flashing fangs and ridges and yellow eyes. "Get out!" 

The door slammed behind her, and I hoped she had sense enough to let it be. 

Apparently not. I sighed when a fortyish man with sandy brown hair and glasses, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt and cowboy boots of all things, sat down in the pew in front of me, facing backwards and looking me up and down. "I thought I told her I wanted to be alone." God, I was worn out. 

"You did," he said, playing with the eight-inch wooden cross he'd brought with him. He had a Texan accent to go with the clothes. 

"Then what are you doing here? Can't a man come into a church for a little peace?" 

"You're not a man." 

"Touche." I stood up. "I expect you want me to leave. I suppose I can make it back to my car before I catch on fire." 

"No." His head was cocked to one side, regarding me steadily with bright brown eyes. "No, I think you should stay. There's more to you than meets the eye, vampire." 

Perceptive, this man of God was. More perceptive than most, anyway. "What do you see, then?" 

"I see someone who's exhausted. I see someone who's seen more than anyone should ever see in a lifetime. I see someone who's looking for answers to questions he doesn't even know how to articulate." He paused. "I see a vampire with a soul, who's wondering why he even bothered to get it in the first place." 

"Bloody hell." That hit a little too close to the mark. I sat back down. "What are you?" 

"Just an ordinary pastor in an ordinary town. Who's seen some extraordinary things. I'm not sure I've ever seen anything as extraordinary as you, though. How did you do it?" He stopped. "No, I think the more important question is, why did you do it?" 

I snorted. "Does it matter? I'm stuck with the sodding thing now, aren't I? Not exactly a man, not exactly a monster. Just...nothing." 

"Oh, you're not 'nothing.' No being with a human soul is 'nothing.'" He stuck his hand out. "Tom Spencer." 

I shook it, hardly believing what I was doing. "Spike. Just Spike. I haven't had a last name for a long time. Why are you doing this? Why do you care? I'm an evil creature who eats people to live. Well, used to eat people," I corrected myself. "But I've caused more pain and mayhem in my lifetime than you can know." 

"Maybe it's just curiosity. Maybe something more. But if you answer my questions, I might be able to answer some of yours. If you want." 

"Interview with the vampire? Pretty old hat, if you ask me." 

He smiled, and I found myself liking him. "C'mon. What else do you have to do until sundown?" 

He had me there. I gave him an evil grin, with a little yellow in the eyes just to test him, and said, "I suppose I could eat you and your secretary and burn your little church to the ground." 

"Oh, you could. But you won't." 

I put my hand over my eyes and sighed. "I'm not even remotely scary anymore, am I? Things have come to a pretty pass when I can't even intimidate...well, you. No offense." 

"None taken. So, tell me. Why did you get it? The soul, I mean." 

It had been so bloody long since I'd sat down and talked to anyone. This man should have hated me and everything I stood for. But he seemed to genuinely care. I decided for the moment not to analyze it and tell him what he wanted to know. In my own way, of course. 

"Ever since I can remember, I've never been good enough. I wasn't good enough for Cecily. I was the laughingstock of the neighborhood I lived in, in London. I wasn't good enough for Dru...actually, strike that; I wasn't evil enough for Dru, although she put up with me for over a hundred years. And I certainly wasn't good enough for Buffy. I've spent my entire life, and most of my unlife, just trying to be good enough for the women in it. Largely unsuccessfully. I once called myself 'love's bitch.' It's still true, even if I haven't been in love with anyone for a long time." 

"Tell me about Cecily. What was she like?" 

"She was a stuck-up little bint, but I thought she was the be-all and end-all of women. She disdained me. I was 'beneath her.' And she let me know that in no uncertain terms the night I professed my love for her. I wrote her a terrible love poem and she laughed me out of the party we were at." 

"Ouch." 

I wasn't good at self-analysis, but I was honest enough to know that I might have deserved what Cecily had said to me that night. That horrid poem had embarrassed both of us. Why in the hell had I thought that "effulgent" rhymed with "bulge in it"? Good God, I was an idiot. "Yeah, well. She may not have been nice about it, but I'm not sure she was wrong, either. I'm at a point in my unlife where I'm brutally candid with myself." 

"What about Dru?" 

"She loved me, I suppose. In her own demented way--for over a hundred years. She was a vampire, but she was also quite insane. Always hearing pixies and talking to the stars. She left me for a Chaos Demon after I made a deal with the Slayer. I saved both our hides, but she said I'd gone soft. Thing is, I hadn't _gone_ soft. I'd always _been_ soft--by vampire standards, anyway. I wasn't into the torture and the maiming like the rest of them were. The hunt, the kill...that was all fine and good, for food. Not for fun. I mean, I enjoyed a spot of violence as much as the next bloke, and I'd never run away from a fight, and I've started my share--but tie someone up and abuse them just for laughs? Not my gig." 

"And Buffy?" 

I slouched against the back of the pew. "Ah, the Slayer. Soft as a kitten, sharp as a steel blade. She had a big heart, that one...but it never belonged to me. Well, maybe at the end. She said she loved me; I suppose that counts for something or other." 

"You don't sound like you believe that." 

Have I said the man was perceptive? I'll say it again. He was. "I don't know what to believe any more. The night before the last battle, while everyone else in the house was shagging their brains out, we just held each other. It meant a lot to me that she trusted me enough to fall asleep in my arms, after--" I stopped, raw pain still fresh in my memory. 

"After what, Spike? What did you do to her?" Tom's voice was gentle, drawing me out. 

I took a deep breath. Surely he'd heard worse than this. Small towns were notorious for being filled with undercurrents of nastiness, and I was pretty sure this one was no different. "I almost raped her," I said softly. "We'd been...she'd been...Bloody hell." How to tell a minister of the word of God, who probably thought that just being a vampire meant a trip straight to the nether regions (not that he was wrong about that), that the Slayer and I had enjoyed a sexual relationship that began and ended with violence? That Buffy's well-meaning friends had ripped her out of Heaven, and so she used my undead body to feel alive? That I tolerated being used in that manner by her because I was a lovesick puppy starving for any bone that she might be willing to throw me? How could I put that into words in a way that this good, decent man would understand just what we had all been going through that turbulent year? I didn't even understand a lot of it myself. 

I jumped to my feet, making him twitch, although he recovered well. "Is there a place here where I can smoke? I really need one right now." 

"My office," he said, surprising me. "I find it helps people to open up if they can do something that relaxes them while they're talking to me. Let's go." 

The chairs in his office were a lot more comfortable than the pew, too. Books lined floor to ceiling shelves. He had a pretty good stereo system, along with a television and a DVD player, and a computer sat on his desk. A small refrigerator squatted in one corner, with a coffee maker with a full pot on top. And there was an extraordinary portrait of Jesus, head thrown back and laughing, on his wall. 

"Can I get you anything? Coffee, a soda? I'm afraid I don't have any blood, assuming that's what you drink." 

"No thanks, I'm good." I sat down and lit a cigarette, the soothing smoke acting like a balm to my mental turmoil. This persistent pastor was dredging up way too many painful memories. 

"So. You almost raped her...and she forgave you." 

"Yeah. How the bloody hell did she do that? I didn't deserve to be forgiven. I deserved to be staked." 

"Sometimes forgiveness isn't granted because it's deserved. It's granted because it's needed." 

What had Buffy said about it? "It's different. _He's_ different." And I was. But not that different. Did the addition of a soul mean so much? Yeah, it was easier for me to hold the demon back, but other than that, I actually felt mostly the same. I must have gotten a defective demon or something when Dru turned me. 

"It was after I almost raped her that I went and got the soul. I never wanted to do that to her again. I wanted to give her what she deserved. And she deserved a man, not a monster." I took another drag from my cigarette. "Of course...now I'm neither. Too much monster to be man, too much man to be monster." 

"You've got a bad case of the in-betweens," Tom said, sipping his coffee. "But from what you've told me, I don't think it started with the soul." 

"We once raised a demon who was going to destroy humankind, Dru and me," I reflected. "He could suck the humanity out of a vampire and turn him to dust from the inside out. He killed Dalton, our researcher, by doing that. He couldn't touch Angelus--but he said that the love that Dru and I felt for each other reeked of humanity. He wanted to kill us, but I reminded him exactly who had brought him forth and he backed off." 

"Honor among demons. Interesting." 

"We have a code of sorts. It gets broken on whim, of course, but it is there." 

"So apparently most vampires have some degree or other of humanity." 

"I wouldn't say most. Some, certainly." I put my cigarette out and jerked my head at the portrait of the laughing Man on the wall. "What would He say about you talking to me like this?" 

"We've had our share of vampires in this town," the pastor answered me. "Why do you think I keep the crypts locked? In ordinary circumstances I'd stake one without even thinking twice about it. You're not ordinary. You have a human soul. And therefore...it can be redeemed." 

I was lighting another cigarette when he said that, and I nearly choked on it. "You want to save my soul? What in bloody hell for? Good God, man, do you have any idea what I've done? Does the phrase 'Scourge of Europe' give you any mental images?" 

He shrugged. "Sure it does. I'm sure you deserve the death penalty many times over. This isn't about what you deserve. No one deserves salvation. Not me, not Nancy, whom you scared half to death awhile ago...and not you. If God gave us what we deserved, every one of us would have a one-way ticket straight to Hell." He gave me a straight, steady stare. "But God loves us too much for that." 

"Even me?" 

"Even you." 

No one had ever told me that before. Even growing up in Victorian England, I'd never heard it put quite that way. My human self wasn't a stranger to the basic message, but my demon had never entertained the hope that he was going anyplace that wasn't full of fire and torment. 

Wait a minute. Tom had said "you." He hadn't specified which of "me" he meant. The half of me that was William had a certain amount of affection for the other half of me, and wasn't sure he wanted to go anywhere without Spike--who was a demon, and therefore by definition belonged someplace other than Heaven. I couldn't leave that alone. "All right, Cleric. But which 'me' does God love? Does he love just the human part of me, that soul? I wouldn't even have that soul if it weren't for the demon going out and getting it. Which wasn't easy, by the way." 

Tom leaned forward. "So, what you're saying is, you basically have two entities living inside your body. The demon that animates it, and the soul that he somehow won." 

"Exactly." 

"And they don't fight? I did a little research after our little vampire infestation, and I read about a vampire that had a soul...but he was a monster through and through, without it. It sounds like you're different." 

"You mean Peaches? Oh, yeah, he was a barrel of laughs, that one. A thoroughgoing bastard when that soul didn't rein him in. But gypsies cursed him with his soul, and I went out and got mine on purpose." 

"I see. So you knew him. And you had a nickname for him." 

Did I want to get into my complicated relationship with my Grandsire? No, I certainly did not. "Let's just say that we crossed paths a few times and leave it at that. No love lost between me and him." I blew out a stream of smoke. "And I have nicknames for bloody everyone." 

"You don't want to talk about it." 

"No, I don't. I haven't seen him for over twenty years, and I haven't missed him a bit. He's all human and everything now, anyway. Got his reward from the Powers, he did." Tom looked interested when I said that, but respected my desire to not get into it any deeper than that. I hadn't been there when it happened anyway, so I don't know what I could have told him. I had the feeling that he was going to be doing some more research when I left, though. "Right, then. Does God love both of me? Or just the human part?" 

The pastor gazed at me over the rim of his coffee mug. "There's a question for the ages. You do realize that God created you." It wasn't a question. "You must have been part of that original rebellion, when Lucifer tried to usurp the Throne." 

I frowned. "I don't really remember much about that. After it happened, we got partitioned off." I tried to remember, but couldn't recall anything from after my very hazy memories of the rebellion, until I clawed my way out of my grave in 1880. What had old Lucifer done then? Put us in a deep freeze, or some kind of stasis? Bloody hell. Who knew, and _You're thinking too much again, Spike,_ I told myself. "Guess I picked the wrong side in that battle. Does that mean I'm doomed for all eternity, or do I have a chance? And if I have a chance, and I take it...would that turn me into a bloody poof of some kind of angelic being, or do I get to keep my personality? Which I've grown rather attached to." 

Tom looked at me oddly. "You'd pick your personality over going to Heaven?" 

"Not necessarily. Just want to know what I'm getting into. I have a nasty habit of going off half-cocked, and I don't want to do that again." 

"Understood. Anyway, when I said God created you, I had a reason. And my reason was that He doesn't just stop loving those He's created just because we stray from the path He's set for us." He gave me a wry grin. "And I think that Michael and Gabriel would probably object to being referred to as 'bloody poofs.'" 

I got a brief mental image of righteous anger and flaming swords, and hastily recanted those words. "Good point." I put my cigarette out and stood up. "Well, Cleric. You've given me quite a bit to mull over. Got a place I can hole up for the rest of the day and think about it?" 

"We have a classroom that won't be in use until Sunday. You're welcome to stay in there. No windows, so you don't have to worry about the sun. And here." He handed me a Bible. "I've marked a few passages in here that might be of interest to you. If you have any questions I'll be around most of the day." 

I tilted my head at him. "Thank you," I said simply. 

"It's what I do," he answered.

  
**_Author's Note: _**I'll post the second and final chapter soon.... 


	2. Answers

**_Author's Notes:_** This chapter is going to be heavy on the Bible stuff. Bible quotes are from the New King James Version. I'm not trying to evangelize here (really!); I'm trying to work through what the process would be for a vampire coming to the realization that Yes, Jesus died for him too. A lot of this is inner stuff and thus new ground for me, writing-wise--and it's also the reason I wrote it in first person. I thought Spike should tell this in his own words.   
  


And I probably never would have thought of the idea of Spike becoming a Christian in the first place if it weren't for that final scene in "Beneath You." So, blame Joss. I do, on a regular basis.   
  


Props to timeends for pointing out something that I should have realized myself. Holy objects (like Bibles) and vampires are, as Buffy would say, unmixy things. I suppose I didn't think of that because I don't think we've ever seen a vampire handle a Bible on the show.   
  


**_Chapter Two: Answers_**

The room was laid out very much like a regular school classroom, with a teacher's desk, a swivel chair behind it, and desk/chair combinations for about fifteen adult students. I sat in the swivel chair, consulted a sheet of paper entitled "God's Plan for Salvation," and opened the Bible that Pastor Tom had given me. I handled it rather gingerly, not quite believing that it didn't burn me like a cross did. Maybe God was in a particularly gracious mood. However, I wasn't going to test Him further by touching a crucifix or drinking holy water. 

Right then. Romans 3:23. "...for all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God." Couldn't argue that point. I thought maybe I'd fallen farther than Paul had conceived of when he'd written that little piece of wisdom though. What was next? 

Still in Romans, verse 6:23. "For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord." Eternal life? Bloody hell, I had that already. Eternal unlife, anyway, so long as I avoided pointy wooden objects and sunlight, and my head stayed firmly attached to my shoulders. 

There was a conundrum. Was I alive, or was I dead? And did it really matter? After all, Paul was talking about the soul there, not the body. I'd already experienced the wages of sin being death, the night I'd let Dru turn me. She'd had to kill me to do it, and now I was really, when you got down to it, a corpse animated by a demon. 

Lovely thought. Next! 

Did we ever get out of Romans? Verse 10:9 said, "that if you confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God has raised Him from the dead, you will be saved." Saved from what? From death? Been there, done that, got the bloody t-shirt. I was already dead, wasn't I? 

Well, yes, I was. But I wasn't at my final destination yet. What would happen to me if my unbeating heart met the sharp end of a stick? Straight to Hell, that's where I was going. And I didn't like the notion of that now any more than I had when Angelus had wanted to suck the entire world there through Acathla's mouth. So, saved from Hell? Would God do that for me, who had hurt so many? I flipped backwards, into the Gospels, and a verse in Matthew, in red, caught my eye. 

"Therefore I say to you, every sin and blasphemy will be forgiven men, but the blasphemy against the Spirit will not be forgiven men." Every sin but the one? Had I committed the blasphemy against the Spirit? I didn't think so. But...half of me wasn't a man. Did He die for demons too? Or could I just change allegiance and be forgiven? It couldn't possibly be that bloody easy...could it? 

I turned some more pages forward and found myself in Luke. Three parables right at the beginning of Chapter 15 were noteworthy. One was about a shepherd, who had a hundred sheep, but lost one, and rejoiced when he found it again. "I say to you that likewise there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine just persons who need no repentance." That was encouraging. I was certainly a sinner. No doubt about that. Dumb as a sheep? I snorted. Maybe. Then there was one about a woman who lost a gold coin. And of course I could relate to the Prodigal Son. Angel's reaction when he found out that I'd gotten my soul back was about like the brother's in that story. 

All this studying was making my head hurt. The Cleric hadn't said I couldn't smoke in here, so I lit one up and leaned back in the chair, putting my feet up on the desk. You wouldn't think that the salvation of one vampire would be all that complicated, but it was. I hadn't found anything yet that said that a demon could be redeemed. Of course, I hadn't found anything that said it was out of the question either. 

Setting aside the fact that I didn't know if my demon could ever be saved, I wrestled with the other issue. Did I believe that Jesus had been raised from the dead? 

Oh, hell, that was a stupid question. I bloody _knew_ He had. Another vague memory came bubbling to the surface, of a bunch of very angry demons frothing at the mouth because of that event. So, no question there. That was a given. 

Okay, then. Did He do it for _me_? Pastor Tom seemed to think so. Things I'd heard off and on over the years backed him up. I'd never been hit in the face in quite this way with it before, though. So what was I going to do with it? 

Sleep on it, that was what. 

***

I startled awake. Had that been a scream? 

Bloody hell. Yes, it had been, because there was another one. I burst out the door and ran down the hall towards Tom's office, fumbling for the butterfly knife I always kept in my duster pocket. The strong smell of blood jerked my head to the left before I got there. Blade ready, I kicked open the door. 

The human body holds less than a gallon of the red stuff. It still makes quite a mess when it's not running around in the arteries and veins where it belongs. Poor...Nancy, had Tom said her name was? She was sprawled out on the floor, mouth and eyes wide--with her throat torn out. 

Nothing else was in the room, and there wasn't anything I could do for her in any case. I whirled around and pounded down the hallway again. Tom's study was empty, but a skim of blood on the floor marked where he had been dragged out. I followed it to the sanctuary, praying I'd still find him alive when I got to the end of the trail. 

Even my jaded eyes weren't prepared for the sight that met them. Three large, reptilian, and toothy Lagfundalia Demons were gathered around my Cleric, who was tied up on the floor in front of the podium. They'd ripped his shirt off, and a green one was holding his arms over his head, a blue one was holding his legs down, and a yellow one was carving symbols into his chest with a curved and jeweled ritual knife, while Tom recited the 23rd Psalm between gritted teeth. The man had the heart and balls of a lion, and faith enough to move a mountain. 

And all I had was a four-inch butterfly knife. Crap. 

And I had surprise. They weren't expecting a vampire to come to the defense of the pastor, and I shed my duster and charged in, yelling like a banshee. The green one had my blade through his heart almost before he knew I was there. The two that were left weren't going to go down easy, though, and they were fast and strong. I managed to kick one away from me, but the other picked me up bodily and threw me against the cross on the wall behind the stage. My skin smoked a little, but it was only a small burn, already healing, and I waded right back in. 

I delivered a spinning kick to the blue demon's jaw, knocked him back, and landed facing the yellow one. He swung at my face with his knife, and I ducked under it and sliced at him, barely missing as he dodged away. He punched me in the stomach with his free hand, and I grunted and punched him back in the eye. Then his knee crunched satisfyingly behind my boot. 

I'd temporarily lost track of the blue demon. I was abruptly reminded of him when his arm snaked around my throat and he slammed his blade into my back. That bloody hurt, but it took more than a little thing like that to put me down. I elbowed him in the ribs, hooked my foot around his ankles, and sent him to the ground. I reversed my own knife and threw it at him, hitting him in the heart and putting him out of the fight for good. 

Then I spun around, scooped up a sacrificial knife that one of them had dropped, and sent it flying into the yellow one's throat. He collapsed with a gurgle and was still. 

I wasn't feeling any too well myself. I sat down suddenly at the edge of the stage and put my head in my hands. I hadn't eaten anything all day, and the stab wound in my back was leaking fairly steadily. 

"Spike?" The pastor's voice sounded like it was coming from a great distance. "Are you all right?" 

"Yeah," I answered faintly. "Just give me a minute, okay? How about you?" 

"Nothing that won't heal." He paused. "Did Nancy get out?" 

My shoulders slumped further. "Sorry, mate. I think it was quick, if that makes you feel any better." 

"Oh, dear Jesus." Coming from him, it was a prayer. "Receive her into Your loving arms." 

"You really believe He will, don't you." It wasn't a question. 

"Yeah. I do." He'd gotten himself loose from the rope that bound his wrists and ankles, and he sat down next to me and put his hand on my back. 

"How?" I asked hopelessly. "If God loves us so soddin' much, then how can He let things like that happen to a nice lady like Nancy? What the bloody hell did she do to deserve that?" 

"Nothing," he replied. "Nothing at all. Spike, we live in a fallen world. You of all people should know that. God took His hand off it when Adam basically handed it to Lucifer." 

"Free will, and all that rot, right?" 

"Exactly. God won't stop us from exercising it, even if it's going to hurt us or someone else." 

"Well, Cleric, you'd probably better exercise some of that free will and get out of here, right now." 

"Why?" 

"Because I'm hungry, and you're bleeding. And my self-control is at a bloody low ebb." 

"Oh?" He was puzzled. Then it dawned on him. "Oh!" He scrambled to his feet. "Can you drink animal blood?" 

"Yeah." I was so tired. "I'd rather you don't bring me a live animal, though." 

"You hang tough, here. I'll be right back." 

After he trotted out, I hauled myself to a standing position and started strolling around the sanctuary. I stopped in front of the picture of Jesus on the Cross. Tilting my head to one side, I regarded it steadily. "Did You do that for me?" I said softly. "Die up there on a Cross, for me?" 

A verse I'd come across earlier floated across my memory. "Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls." Rest. That was what I wanted more than anything. Maybe Angel could go on day after day, fighting the good fight, all alone--but even he had had a support system. Buffy had her Scoobies, and Angel had the Fang Gang. Who did I have? 

No one. 

"It is not good that man should be alone." Where did that come from? And I wasn't a man anyway. 

But it was true, wasn't it? Being alone was bad. All kinds of bad. Of course, the problem was that I didn't fit in anywhere. The man/monster dichotomy raised its ugly head again and reminded me that no matter how hard I bloody well tried, no one would ever quite understand. 

Wait a minute. What about that Man up on the Cross? He knew what it was to be alone, the only one of you in the world. Fully human, fully God...I wasn't presumptuous enough to compare myself to Him, but He _understood._ And if He understood... 

Then I wasn't really alone. 

I turned my back to the wall and slid down into a sitting position under the picture, leaning my head back. And that's how Tom found me when he came back in. He'd put on a fresh shirt and jeans and carried a paper bag. Stopping several feet away, he eyed me somewhat warily. "I've got some blood for you. And a bandage if you need one." 

I closed my eyes in amusement and said, "Bring me the blood, Cleric. I won't bite you." I took the carton he handed me and drained it in one long draught. Damn, that went down good. "Thank you." 

"You're welcome. Bart the Butcher sure gave me a funny look when I asked for it though." 

My mouth quirked. "I can imagine. What did you tell him?" 

"Absolutely nothing. What could I tell him? Now, let me see that stab wound." 

"I have vampire healing, mate. No need for you to get all hot and bothered about me. Now, you, on the other hand..." 

"Flesh wounds," he said dismissively, handing me another carton. 

"Who do you think you're fooling? Let's have a look, come on." I drank down the new cup while he reluctantly took his shirt off. I gave a low whistle when I saw what they'd done to him. "Those are going to leave scars." He'd cleaned them up as best he could, but they were ugly and nasty and to the bone. "What else you got in the bag?" 

"Disinfectant, some Liquid Bandage. I thought you'd need it more than me. I saw how deep that monster's knife went." 

"Oh, it hurts, I'll grant you that much," I told him. "But something like this is an inconvenience for the likes of me, nothing more. I survived having a church organ dropped on me. This is piddly in comparison to that." I took a swift glance at his left hand. "Oh, bloody hell, you've got a wife to get all worried about this?" 

A variety of expressions crossed his face. Raw pain, mostly. "No. Not anymore. She...there was an accident. A couple of years ago. She's in a better place. But I still miss her." 

Way to put your foot in it, Spike. "I'm sorry. I have a tendency to both pry and talk too much. Just hit me if I get too personal. Let me help with these cuts, though." I rummaged through the bag and fished out the disinfectant. 

"What did you think of those Bible verses I gave you?" he asked between his teeth as I rubbed the antiseptic on the wounds. 

"They were interesting. I found some things on my own that clarified some stuff too. But you know what impressed me the most?" 

"What?" Still clenching his jaws. 

"You. Laying there, trussed up and getting carved like a Thanksgiving turkey, reciting a Psalm. Bloody hell, that was amazing." I put the finishing touches on the last cut. 

"Well, either the Lord was calling me home, or He was going to save me somehow. Either way it was good." He smiled faintly as he put his shirt back on. "Guess He wants me around the Earth for a little while longer." 

How could I tell faith like that to just bugger off? Would Jesus give me the same peace He gave this man? I didn't know. But I couldn't say no to Truth when it hit me in the face. "Pastor Tom," I began, then stopped. What to say? 

But he looked at me and knew. "You're ready to ask Jesus into your heart, aren't you?" 

"I don't know if He'll bloody have me or not. I'm a demon, after all, not much different from those that we just killed. But if He will, then yeah." 

"No, you're very different from them. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise. You're a demon, but you want to be better than that. You're _choosing_ to be better than that. And that, my friend, is the real miracle. Let's pray together, shall we?" 

I knelt down awkwardly, bowing my head, and he sat on the stage with his hand on my shoulder. And as he prayed for me, and then I haltingly prayed for myself, I felt as though a burden I'd been carrying around for a very long time was lifted off my shoulders. Whatever I faced in the future, I wouldn't do it alone ever again. 

My demon cringed, half-expecting to be incinerated on the spot, but after it was over I didn't really feel all that different. Lighter, maybe. The load was gone, being carried by a Friend who would never leave me no matter how bad the going got; but my heart still didn't thump in my chest, and I only breathed when I wanted to, or on reflex. And I didn't think I'd have to beat the demon back with a club whenever someone bled around me anymore, which would be a relief for both of us. 

Was I still a demon, a fallen angel? I didn't know. I experimented, and I could still do fangs and brow ridges, and Pastor Tom told me that my eyes turned yellow. I didn't know what that meant, if anything. I was all right with it; I supposed I'd find out what it was all about when I finally met the pointy end of a stake--which I was in no hurry to do. 

We took care of poor Nancy as best we could under the circumstances. I'd learned over the years that coroners and police were good at covering up odd deaths, and this little town was no different. Her family was told that she'd fallen down the steps into the church basement and broken her neck. We dragged the Lagfundalias off into the scrub for the coyotes, buzzards, and other, less conventional, scavengers. 

And then, I was ready to go. Lampasas had given me quite a few eye-opening experiences, some pleasant, some less so, but I hadn't planned on staying for any length of time. "Are you sure? We could use you around here. It's not as sleepy a place as it looks, you know. And...new Christians should be discipled." 

It was tempting. Where was I going, after all? It wasn't like I had any place to _be_; I was just wandering. He could see me wavering. "I could open up one of the crypts for you," he suggested. 

I threw up my hands. "Fine! Make me an offer I can't refuse. I suppose I could settle down for awhile, make some friends, and all that rot. Bloody clerics, always interfering," I muttered, but he knew I didn't mean it. Someone caring about where I went and what I did was a new experience, and I wasn't entirely sure how to handle it. 

He got the keys out of his office, and we went out to look at my new digs. As we walked out the front door, I noticed a muscular brindle and white dog with a funny-shaped head and pointed ears keeping a wary eye on us from the parking lot. "You never told me you had a dog," I said. 

"I don't. He was abandoned here a couple of weeks ago. I feed him, but he won't let me anywhere near him." 

"Hard to imagine. He's a nice looking Bull Terrier." I did a slow burn, wondering what kind of people would make a Bull Terrier, of all breeds, not want to come up to anyone. 

"I know. I haven't had the heart to call the dog catcher, so I just feed him and hope he'll change his mind. Then maybe a family in the church would adopt him." 

"Not you?" 

"I have two cats. They rule my roost, and I think they'd be a little miffed with me if I brought a dog into the house." 

"You are full of surprises, Cleric. I'd have figured you for a Golden Retriever." 

"We had one...before. She was with my wife when she...and I couldn't." 

"Bloody hell." Stepped in it again--he'd lost his wife and his dog in the same accident. "I'm sorry. One of these days I'll learn to keep my soddin' mouth shut." 

"It's okay. You didn't know." He changed the subject back to the Bull Terrier, who followed us into the graveyard at a safe distance. "Think you can get him to make friends?" 

"I'll have him watching 'Passions' with me in my easy chair in three days." 

"That soon?" 

I snorted. "Aside from keeping the town free of nasties, which should take me all of an hour a night, I won't really have anything else to do, will I?" 

He looked at me sideways. "Oh, I'm sure I can find things for you. Some heavy reading. And you have a lot to teach me, too. There are certain kinds of demons I can't fight with prayer, and it would be nice to know how to come at them." 

"Well then, I'll work on our stray dog in my spare time. You just be sure to have a good supply of fried liver from Bart the Butcher on hand." Tom opened the larger mausoleum, and we went in and looked around. "This'll do," I decided immediately. "I'm sure Topper'll like it here too, once we get it fixed up with some furniture." 

"You've named him already?" 

"Might as well. He's a young dog, from what I saw, and I'll have him for awhile, won't I?" 

Tom laughed and clapped me on the back. "Welcome to Lampasas."   
  


_Finis_   
  


**_Author's Notes: _**Well, that's it. Wouldn't be one of mine if there wasn't a dog in there somewhere. I was going to have him pick up a blue merle Collie on his way out of town, but then Topper showed up and the Cleric talked him into staying...   
  


Hopefully I kept him in character, and hopefully I didn't mangle too many rules beyond recognition. Can a demon switch sides? What would happen if one did? Of course, fitting a Jossverse demon into any kind of Biblical mode is like trying to fit a 747 engine under the hood of a Mazda Miata...but one can try. Read, review, give me a happy. Authors live to know that someone is reading our carp and it's touching them somehow. 


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